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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088298">Dick's Apartment</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Uninformed_Zennial/pseuds/The_Uninformed_Zennial'>The_Uninformed_Zennial</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Batboys Shenanigans [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alfred Pennyworth is So Done, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bad Sibling Dick Grayson, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Batman Needs a Robin, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is Not Okay, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, But He still loves his brother, Canon Timeline, DC Comics References, Damian Wayne Acts Like a Kid, Damian Wayne Has Issues, Damian Wayne Has PTSD, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne is a Brat, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Dick Grayson is Batman, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Not Okay, Dick Grayson is Ric Grayson, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Dick Grayson-centric, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Bro Dick Grayson, Good Bro Jason Todd, Good Bro Tim Drake, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Good Parent Dick Grayson, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Tim Drake, Jason Todd Deserves Happiness, Jason Todd Feels, Jason Todd Has Anger Issues, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Swears, Jason Todd is Robin, Memories, Memory Loss, Minor Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Panic Attacks, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Protective Alfred Pennyworth, Protective Barbara Gordon, Protective Tim Drake, Recovered Memories, Ric Grayson Fix-It, Robin is dead, Sleepovers, That Dick Doesn't Help, Tim Drake Has Abandonment Issues, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Fired, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake is So Done, WHY IS THAT NOT A TAG??, Worried Alfred Pennyworth, although technically it's ric here..., obviously</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:42:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Uninformed_Zennial/pseuds/The_Uninformed_Zennial</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Dick Grayson left the manor and the mantle of Robin behind, he's found himself confronted with the needs of his crazy adopted family time and time again. So come on in, the door's always open.</p><p>*Features one short story for each of the batboys, and one with Barbara, and another with Pennyworth (sorry, I just don't know enough about Cass and Duke to feel comfortable writing about them rn.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson &amp; Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd, Tim Drake &amp; Dick Grayson, Tim Drake &amp; Dick Grayson &amp; Alfred Pennyworth &amp; Jason Todd &amp; Bruce Wayne &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Batboys Shenanigans [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>321</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jason</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The first family member to stay the night at Dick’s apartment was Jason Todd, the new Robin. The new Dick. Or so the former protege had felt upon discovering that Batman’s sidekick was still active on the streets of Gotham and Bruce Wayne had gained a new ward. He didn’t speak to Bruce for about six months after that, and even after they finally had a conversation about what happened, it took him a while to be able to show his face around the manor. But once he got over himself, he found that Jason was actually a pretty cool kid. So, when Bruce found himself called off world for some league business while Alfred was sick, Dick didn’t entirely mind watching the little punk for the weekend...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bruce dropped him off on the sidewalk in the late afternoon, barely giving the kid enough time to grab his backpack and cell phone before speeding off towards the nearest Zeta tube. Typical. Why bother waiting for your babysitter when the world was at stake? Whatever. Jason could take care of himself just fine, better than fine. I mean, he was fucking Robin. He took care of Batman when the situation called for it. Screw Bruce for even thinking he needed to be watched. Screw Dick for agreeing. He unzipped his backpack just enough to reach inside and touch the hem of his Robin suit. He was going on patrol, and he would just love to see Nightwing try and stop him. He slung his worn red backpack onto his shoulder and turned his phone’s location off, but just as he was about to bolt, he felt a warm hand grab his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey man, I was just on my way out.” Dick’s knowing smile just made Jason want to punch him in the face, “Looks like you were too. Wanna grab some pizza before you get both of us in trouble?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you man.” Jason spat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick tightened his grip on Jason’s shoulder and pulled him into the doorway of the apartment building, away from the street and prying ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I get the whole tough guy act and needing to prove yourself to Bruce thing, okay? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. But if you take to the streets before I’ve even had the chance to put some food in you I have a feeling Batman’s no-kill rule will be temporarily suspended. So, we can either do this the easy way, or we can break out in a brawl in the middle of the street, which do you prefer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As much as Jason would love to see if he could beat Dick in combat, he did have a point. Bruce would be pissed if Jason ran off before even giving Dick a chance, and pizza before patrol didn’t sound like the worst thing he could think of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great,” Dick’s smile returned to his face almost as quickly as it had disappeared, “just let me get my coat and we'll be on our way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason slumped up against the side of the building and whipped out his phone in response. By the time Dick came back downstairs he had already beat a new level in the stupid numbers game Bruce made him download to “build his deductive reasoning skills” or whatever. Dick was such a priss, sauntering down the staircase in a leather jacket that looked like it had just come off the manufacturers belt, while still having the audacity to refute Jason’s whispered taunt of “spoiled brat” with a, “then what does that make you?” in reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pair decided to use a shortcut Dick had recently discovered that supposedly made the trip take half as long as usual. It cut through a couple of alleys, but what was the harm, I mean, they were Nightwing and Robin, afterall. Just as the thought crossed Jason's mind, he heard the click of a gun hammer pulled back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop.” came the growl from a voice behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick quickly gave Jason a look that said to just play along. They reluctantly stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn around.” Man this guy was cocky. “Empty your pockets.” Jason almost felt bad for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But just as he was about to show this punk who was boss, Dick grabbed his arm, and he noticed that he had all his valuables laying out in front of him. Was he serious? Dick could take this guy down in his sleep, and yet he was just gonna roll over and give him whatever he wanted. No way. Then he caught a look at the guy. He wasn’t so much of a guy as a kid, a kid who didn’t look much older than Jason was when Batman found him trying to lift the tires off the batmobile. Not much older than Jason was when… no, he wouldn’t go there. Suffice it to say, life on the streets was hard enough. This kid didn’t need to be ruffed up by two literal superheroes, he needed a sandwich. Maybe two. So, reluctantly, Jason unbuckled his watch and took his phone out of his back pocket. There really wasn’t anything else of value he had brought with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kid peered around the barrel of his gun, inspecting the pile, then motioned at Jason, “Backpack too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. The backpack, the backpack with his Robin suit inside. Which, if found, would totally ruin the whole secret identity thing. Did Dick know? He glanced up at him, and yeah, he knew. Fuck, mental note, find a better way to sneak the Robin suit in and out of the cave. Jason subconsciously gripped the backpack more tensely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” Dick spoke up, thank god, “I don’t think you actually want that. See, my brother here was going to spend the night at my house so it’s just filled with an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush. Nothing valuable there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason could have facepalmed, right then and there. Dick obviously knew nothing about what was and was not valuable to a kid on the streets, because honestly, two years ago Jason would’ve killed to find a backpack filled with an extra pair of clothes and a toothbrush. Those things were hard to come by. And also, did he seriously just call him his brother?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure enough the kid motioned with his free hand, “Hand it over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason tried to hide the panic that was slowly spreading across his face, but Dick was too perceptive and he knew it. Fuck him. He was not handing the bag over, no matter what the little punk threatened. Somehow, Dick seemed to know that because before Jason could make a move, Dick had already done some crazy ass acrobatic flip that simultaneously knocked the kid out and disarmed him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How the hell--?” The words just kinda slipped out before Jason even realized what he was saying, “...Bruce is seriously holding out on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick just smiled while he picked the gun up off the ground and put a twenty in the kid’s half opened hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they began to pick up their valuables, he leaned over and whispered, “You know I was in the circus right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I was Robin for about a decade”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you going with this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile somehow glinted in his eyes, “Batman didn’t teach me that one. I created it myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took all Jason’s willpower to not drop his mouth wide open. How was that even possible? I mean, the mechanics of the move, how Dick had to launch his body upward just the right amount so that he could come down on the attacker’s hands and face with just enough force to cause them to release the weapon before firing, it was insane! Jason had to learn it. Just as he opened his mouth to ask, Dick raised his hand in silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After pizza.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So that’s what they did. They must’ve spent a good three hours at the local park just trying to get Jason to launch himself high enough in the air. As much as he hated to admit it, Dick was a lot more agile and Jason was quickly tiring out. After about the 500th failure, Jason lost it. He didn’t know what came over him, but the next thing he knew he was picking up the pieces of his broken phone off the sidewalk. Shit. Shit, Bruce was gonna be so pissed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey man,” Dick started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God his cheerful attitude was starting to get really fucking old. Dick Grayson. The first Robin. The prodigal son. The dude who started beating up bad guys before he had even shaved for the first time. Dick Grayson who could fling himself in the air all day long and barely break a sweat. Dick Grayson, the guy he was just subbing in for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Jason even realized what was happening, he felt his curled fist impact the side of Dick face. Dick stepped back a few paces, and instinctively hunched into his fighting stance while inspecting his face for blood. Jason was proud to say there were a few drops, thanks to a ring on his middle finger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck?” He asked, clearly confused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just stay the hell away from me, okay?” Jason said quite a bit louder than he had intended, “I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never said that you weren’t.” Dick dropped his stance. “Look, maybe we should take a break.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A break. Yeah, right. Jason Todd, the kid who couldn’t even make it through an afternoon of training without having a complete meltdown. No way was Bruce not going to hear about this. With the way things were going, he’d probably be taken off patrol for at least a week. No. He wouldn’t let that happen. All he had to do was convince Dick that he was fine, he was better than fine, he was the real Robin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason took another swing, and this time, Dick was expecting it. He grabbed Jason’s outstretched arm and twisted it behind his back. But before he could get the hold fully secured, Jason took his free arm and elbowed him right in the stomach, the diaphragm, if Dick’s sudden fit of coughing was any indication. This gave Jason enough time to yank his hand free of Dick’s grasp and try to land another blow. He decided to go for a kick to the right knee, a weak spot of Batman’s former protege he had learned about while reviewing old video tapes for training. But Dick saw it coming. Before Jason even had time to think, Dick had already grabbed his outstretched leg and knocked him off balance, causing him to fall into the soft dirt around them. Jason kicked and flailed, trying to get his leg free, but it didn’t work, and soon Dick was on top of him, pinning him to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason knew if he tried he could get free eventually, but after a while he just stopped. What was the point anyway? Surely Dick was going to call Batman as soon as he was back on world and tell him everything. He’d recommend Jason give back the Robin suit and retire from the vigilante business because he couldn’t handle the stress of learning a new trick. Then he’d be back on the streets, because what use would Bruce Wayne have for him if he couldn’t fight crime? At least this time he’d know how to defend himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason didn’t even realize he had started to cry until he was being held in Dick’s arms. It was strange and incredibly uncomfortable to be held by someone that was nearly his own size, but Dick was soft and warm and would not let go. So Jason just sat there frozen, tears silently running down his face as he tried desperately to hide the fact that he was terrified of what was going to happen to him now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two boys stayed there like that for a few minutes, until Jason had softened enough to meld into Dick’s arms a little, and the latest wave of tears had come and gone. When Dick finally did let go, Jason scrambled back up onto his feet, and wiped away any trace that he had cried in the first place. Then turned a stony gaze at Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t tell Bruce.” He glared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell him what?” Dick asked innocently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There he was, being a prick again. Jason glanced around the park that was now well covered in darkness looking for a space to stare at that wasn’t Dick. Anywhere but Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That I failed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” Dick’s tone was sarcastic and somewhat offended. “Did you just say you failed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason nodded ever so slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, no.” He sighed in a manner eerily similar to Bruce. “Jace, it takes time to master a move like this, like an insane amount of time, like years. You had three hours in a playground and you’ve already got the basic motor functions of the move down. I don’t know about you, but I call that impressive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason looked cautiously into Dick’s eyes, could he really mean what he was saying? “But then why did you say I should take a break?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I could see you were getting to the end of your rope. I mean, you threw your phone on the ground and punched me in the face. If that’s not a clear indication someone needs a break, then I don’t know what is.” He smiled reassuringly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you aren’t going to tell Bruce what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, I don’t really think there’s anything he needs to know about, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason allowed the phantom of a smile to creep up on his face, “Not unless you can’t handle being punched in the face by your little brother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brother, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your words, not mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick laughed, “Okay then, brother, what do you say we go get a movie and eat some popcorn? I’ve had enough training tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason narrowed his eyes, “Fine. But only if it’s horror.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick just smiled and put his arm around his little brother’s shoulder as they walked out of the park and back to the apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boys stayed up well into the night, mostly mocking the movie they chose for it’s subpar acting and special effects quality. It was one of those “classic” horror movies that everyone has to see at least once in their lives, so of course it sucked. Still, Jason could honestly say it was the most fun he’d had in years. Dick was definitely an asshole, but despite his better judgement, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe, just maybe, Dick wasn’t as big a dick as he thought.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bruce</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Did I say I'd post this on Monday? I lied. Oh well, I got bored and finished it early, so here you go!</p><p>This one is an interaction between Bruce and Dick after Jason's death, so be prepared for some *angst*</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The day following Jason’s death had gone by so quickly, Bruce didn’t know what had happened, not really anyway. All he could see was Robin, Jason, his son, so bloody and bruised and broken. He was almost unrecognizable. Almost. But Bruce knew, he had seen that smiling face far too many times to not know. Jason was gone. He was gone and it was Bruce’s fault. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He didn’t know where he was. Somewhere in the city, definitely not Gotham. The next thing he knew, he was looking down at Dick, sleeping peacefully in his bed, just like he used to on long nights after patrol. Dick who had been in countless situations just like the one that got his broth… that got Jason, killed. Was he even real? Was any of this real?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Dick</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His name, someone was calling his name. Breath flooded Dick’s lungs and he opened his eyes, jumping back at the sight in front of him. Batman...er, Bruce in the lightest layer of the batman suit, leaning only a few inches away from his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce?” His brain could not process… why was Bruce in his apartment? What time was it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jason...” Bruce’s lower lip started to quiver. It never quivered. Something was very, very wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce, I’m Dick, not Jason.” Definitely something wrong with his brain. Maybe a new strain of fear toxin? But then why would he be here and not the cave? And where was Jason anyway? Weren’t the two of them supposed to be in Africa or something?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Jason, he’s…” Tears actually started flowing down Bruce’s face. Dick had never seen Bruce cry, not even once. This wasn’t fear toxin, this was real. That could only mean one thing… no. No, Jason couldn’t be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce, where’s Jason?” Despite how much he tried to keep it steady, his voice still shook at the name, his brother’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gone. The unspoken word followed without pause. Dead. Taken from the world, never to be seen again. Jason. His brother. He couldn’t… he couldn’t do this. First his parents, now his brother? The brother he had just started to get to know. The brother who relentlessly teased him about every little thing. The brother who always wore that baggy red hoodie no matter what the temperature was like outside. The brother he would never see smile again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbidden tears started to flow down his face. He stared at a blank space on the wall in front of him and tried to slow his breathing. It helped, a little. As soon as the world slowed down it’s spinning he turned to look at Bruce, who was now kneeling on the floor next to Dick’s bed, with his head in his arms. He’d gone catatonic. Dick had only ever seen him this way once before,  when affected by one of scarecrow’s fear toxins he had yet to build an immunity to. He and Alfred had been able to calm him down, but only after they had shot him with an extra dose of antitoxin and Dick accidentally caught a punch with his face. But this time was different, there wasn’t a cure for this because it wasn’t drug induced. Jason was really gone, and Bruce was going to snap, if he hadn’t already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick cautiously reached out to touch Bruce’s arm. His head snapped up instantly, and it took everything in Dick’s power to not reach for the knife concealed right behind his nightstand. That is, until he looked in Bruce’s eyes. The man couldn’t stop crying. He was broken. Bruce reached up to touch Dick’s face, and after initially pulling back, Dick eventually leaned forward and let his former guardian touch him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay Bruce.” he cooed, trying to keep his tone steady, “I’m still here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That must’ve sunk in, because Bruce started to take some deep breaths, calming himself down, just like he taught Dick to do in emergency situations. Pretty soon, he was able to stand up on his own. At which point he kind of awkwardly leaned against the wall in the bedroom. Dick took the chance to glance down at his clock, 3:00 AM. Well, there went any hope he had for sleep before work in the morning. He grudgingly climbed off the end of his bed, so as to not disturb Bruce, and shuffled his way into the kitchen. Coffee. He needed coffee, and maybe a drink. Bruce probably did too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I should go.” Bruce mumbled, from his position in the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way.” Dick said, a lot more coherently than he felt, “You don’t get to break into my apartment and wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me terrible news with no explanation and then ditch me after having a come-apart on my bedroom floor. Not gonna happen. So, do you want coffee or bourbon or both?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce just grunted and made his way over to the small, cluttered table that was the closest thing to a dining room Dick had in his tiny apartment. The two of them just stood there in silence for a few minutes while the water got heated. Jason, dead. That couldn’t be possible. He’d just seen him like, what, a week ago? He had just helped dismantle a drug ring that was terrorizing the city, most of the guys hadn’t even been prosecuted yet. How could he be gone? Dick didn’t notice the stray tear falling down his face until the coffee pot started making that screeching noise that indicated it was almost done. He wiped it off his face before getting down two mugs and pulling the milk and sugar from his fridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce always said he liked his coffee black, but Dick knew that he secretly preferred a small splash of milk to dull some of the coffee’s sharper tastes. He poured the black liquid into the two cups then took down the bourbon and splashed a bit in as well. This was going to be a long night (morning?), whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” The force with which Dick set the mug on the table made a little of the hot liquid splash onto some stray papers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce stayed leaning up against the wall, looking at the open window like a bird, or a bat, ready to take flight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit down and tell me what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce simply glared at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce,” Dick chided, “how did he… what went wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce still stood aloof next to the window, but decided to reach for the coffee and took a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you aren’t here to talk, why did you come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put the mug down, “I need you to stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick raised his eyebrows in confusion, “Stop what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nightwing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick’s jaw clenched automatically. His head shook a little with the effort it took to contain his ever amounting rage. Hadn’t they already had this conversation before? Didn’t Bruce remember where this conversation got them last time? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you ever stop...” he began, but couldn’t finish. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Treating me like a child</span>
  </em>
  <span> ...or... </span>
  <em>
    <span>being batman</span>
  </em>
  <span>… Dick couldn’t decide which would be the more fitting end to the question. Somehow, Bruce knew exactly what he meant. The answer to both questions forming in his mind was answered in a simple,</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the morning was spent in relative silence. Bruce had made it fairly clear that he would not tell Dick about what had happened with Jason, and Dick was honestly too tired to press. He figured he’d just hack into the batcomputer next chance he got and find out what happened for himself. Bruce would eventually need to answer his questions, but Dick figured they could remain unanswered until Bruce got his head back on straight. Besides, his mind was too full of all the memories and emotion that he didn’t think he would really hear Bruce even if he did explain himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes until five and Dick finally broke the silence, “Look, I have a meeting with the Titans in a couple minutes and you need some sleep. There are some sheets in the nightstand by my bed and the couch is pretty comfortable, so crash there if you need to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce lifted his head up in slight acknowledgement of what Dick had said, but quickly regained his brooding stature. Standing there in the dim morning light he looked more like a gargoyle than a real person. For once, Dick thought he could understand why Bruce chose to name himself after a bat, the two creatures shared an eerie similarity; the natural ability to strike terror into the heart of a bystander. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick eventually left to go get ready for his meeting. By the time he came out of the bathroom, he found that Bruce had pulled the sheets out of the drawer and laid them on the sofa. He also noticed half of his bottle of bourbon was gone. Dick couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Bruce drink. What could have gone so wrong? But there was no time to pry answers out of the stubborn bat, they would just have to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So as Dick turned to leave for the day he looked at Bruce for just a moment and said, “I expect you’ll be ready to actually talk to me when I return.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick came back to an empty apartment. It looked exactly as he had left it, not a trace of Bruce anywhere, save the unlocked window and the empty bottle of bourbon in the trash. Dick could almost pretend it was a dream, just another bad nightmare. But deep down he knew Bruce had told the truth. Jason was dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weight of it all slammed into him at once, and he found himself crouched on the ground gasping for air through tear soaked sobs. Jason was dead. He couldn’t move, so he didn’t. Dick stayed there, frozen on the ground, paralyzed in sadness until dawn rose to greet him once more.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This takes place in a slightly altered version of canon where Dick wasn’t off-world at the time of Jason’s death. However, I tried my best to make it so that the events of New Titans #55 could still make sense (with a few minor adjustments), because I think the way they wrote it was actually pretty well done.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tim</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tim gets badly injured during one of his first nights out as Robin and decides to visit Dick, of all people.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tim clambers up the firescape of the old apartment building. It creaks slightly with every step he takes. Although, he’s pretty sure it’s no more distracting than the drip, drip, drip of blood slowly cascading from the wound on his side. He needs medical supplies and he knows Dick will most certainly have them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dick woke up to the sound of someone fidgeting with the lock on his window. Without a second thought, he grabbed the nearest weapon and jumped out of bed, ready to face whatever enemy dared dawn his window at one O’clock in the morning. But he paused for a moment when he saw who it was. Robin, bloody and bruised and slumping against his window. What did the kid do this time?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick dropped the knife, and raced over to unlatch the window. Tim collapsed into his arms as it slid open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well good morning.” Dick sarcastically commented, hoping to get a response out of Tim, make sure he was still conscious and all that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning Dick.” Tim responded, trying a little too hard to sound fine. “I need some medical attention. Do you have any gauze?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick smiled, the kid was still awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might have some in the back of a drawer somewhere.” he said, propping Tim up against some pillows on the couch. He came back an instant later with a tall glass of water, some alcohol, plenty of gauze, blue pills, and a needle and thread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not stitches…” Tim halfheartedly groaned, although he honestly should’ve seen this coming. The wound was deep and he was bleeding pretty badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry Babybird, but you should’ve gone to Alfred if you wanted staples.” Seriously, why didn’t the kid go back to the cave? Alfred had a way better medical station set up there. But, Dick guessed there’d be time to talk about that later, assuming Tim didn’t pass out from the pain. “Alright, you ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim’s grunt was as good a reply as any, so Dick got to work. The kid did pretty good at staying awake and alert all on his own, but if his time as Robin had taught him anything, Dick knew it would take a bit more that sheer will power to be able to go through a procedure like this without falling into the peaceful arms of sleep, which could prove dangerous if the kid had a concussion, which was not entirely out of the question. So, he decided to engage Tim in conversation, purely for medical purposes and not because Dick was secretly wondering what the hell made him decide to come to his apartment of all places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…” Dick began, “a katana huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim sucked in a large amount of breath as Dick punctured the skin around the wound with the needle. “Yeah, got caught following a lead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick tied the knot and got to work on the next stitch, “Aren’t you still supposed to be in training… at the cave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This got him a steely eyed glare that would’ve made Bruce proud. That is, before it was interrupted by another large intake of breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How am I supposed to be Robin if all I ever do is sit around in the cave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick forced down a chuckle, remembering all the times he had the same conversation with Alfred when he was first starting as Batman’s sidekick. “Look, I get it, but if Batman doesn’t want you out in the field, it means you aren’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rage that bubbled up in Tim’s face was more than expected. Dick guessed that if he wasn’t literally in the middle of sewing him back together, Tim might’ve actually punched him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say I’m not ready.” Tim said as he pushed a piece of gauze onto his bleeding wound, “You don’t know what it’s like. Ever since Jason…” The look of sadness that crossed Dick’s face must’ve been clear enough to catch Tim’s attention because he paused for a moment before resuming, “He’s not the same. He isn’t willing to let me take risks, to let me help him. So I thought…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Dick finished taping up the bandage, he glanced up at his little brother knowingly, “You thought you could show him you were ready for the field by going out on your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim embarrassedly looked away while pulling down his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it, I really do.” Dick smiled, “I can't tell you how many times I went solo to try and prove myself to Bruce. Especially when he was putting too many restrictions on me because he was afraid I might get hurt. But Tim,” He made his brother look him in the eyes, “you can’t go on patrol by yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim slumped against the couch. Dick could see the dejection from a mile away and quickly understood his mistake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I mean is, if you ever feel like Bruce is being unreasonable, I’m just a phone call away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This got a shy smile from Tim and made Dick feel like a pretty damn good big brother, a role he was still incredibly unfamiliar with. Once Dick had forced Tim to eat something and finished cleaning up all the blood his brother had spilt over his new floors, the brothers spent the rest of the night watching cheesy sci-fi movies. Despite the logical reason being to ensure that Tim had no residual brain damage from his slight concussion, they still found themselves pleasantly surprised by the familiarity of the other’s company. It was as if they had somehow always meant to be brothers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as the sun was beginning to rise on the horizon and Dick slowly succumbed to the sweet darkness of sleep, he looked into his little brother’s dark eyes and knew that he would do anything to protect him. Absolutely anything. It was that feeling of love that finally pushed his eyelids closed and his mind to peace.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I know this one is a little shorter than usual, but I'll be coming back to Tim next time I post, which will honestly be whenever I feel like it. (Probably within the next few days tbh, since I just finished with school and already have most of it written). But yeah, thanks for all the kudos and love on this series, I'm glad you guys can enjoy it as much as I have! <br/>-A.J.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Tim 2.0</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This one takes place after the events of Battle for the Cowl, wherein Dick takes the mantle of Batman and fires Tim as Robin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tim crawled through the open window of the half empty apartment in Bludhaven. Dick’s apartment, or old apartment. Now that Dick had taken the mantle of Batman he figured he would stay in Gotham. It was safer that way. Tim sighed, just another sacrifice in a long list of fatalities to keep Gotham safe, to keep Batman alive after death. To anyone else, the state of it all would be terrifying, but Tim wasn’t worried, it wouldn’t last long. He would make sure of it. He knew Bruce was alive, and he was going to prove it. No matter what it took, because it wasn’t just the city that needed Batman, it was Dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t get me wrong, Tim was still upset over being fired from being Robin. I mean, all he had ever wanted to do since he was a kid was to take on the mantle, and now that his favorite… er, childhood superhero, the first Robin, Dick Grayson, was taking on the mantle of Batman, he couldn’t have been more excited to get to work alongside him. But Dick fired him. Supposedly for being too good, of all things. Whatever. Tim was glad that at least now he’d have the time and energy to put all his resources into tracking down Bruce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick didn’t get that. He told himself Bruce was dead, told Tim he was being too emotional, but Tim wasn’t emotional, Grayson was. That was what had gotten him thinking. He went back through Dick’s file, like he had done a million times since becoming Robin, and while doing so, he came across a video recording of one of Batman and Robin’s first nights together. It started with Dick doing a front flip off a crate into a whole horde of drug smugglers. He landed gracefully, as always, put his hands on his hips and said some quip or another before proceeding to flip around the group, taunting and beating the shit out of the felons. While Dick drew the attention of most of the men, Batman slowly rose out of the shadows and silently took them down. Tim knew this was their dynamic, this was the point of Robin, to distract the villains while Batman beat them up. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This dynamic wasn’t planned. Bruce didn’t adopt Dick to use him as cannon fodder, Dick was just naturally loud and expressive, so he drew a lot of attention to himself out in the field. The same tactic was applied later when he struck out on his own as Nightwing. Batman, on the other hand, was a creature of the night. Silent, deadly, and emotionless. That was not Dick. Infact, Dick was probably the furthest thing from that characterization. He was too loud, too happy, too carefree to be Batman. Thus, he could never be Batman. I mean, sure, he could wear the cowl and take down the bad guys and probably fool everyone around him into thinking Bruce hadn’t really died. But he would have to do that by sacrificing himself, by sacrificing everything that made Dick, Dick. All just to keep the phantom memory of the Batman alive. That might be a risk Dick was willing to take, but Tim wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s why he was here, sneaking into this half-abandoned apartment with a small envelope in his hand. He was leaving Gotham, going to find Bruce and save his brother, his hero, from a fate worse than death. No matter what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick opened the door of his apartment, and was instantly greeted by the smell of rotten food. That’s what he got for refusing to come back here for two weeks in a row. Lately, he’d been sleeping at the manor, it was just easier while he was taking care of Damian and doing all the Batman stuff. Besides, his old room was just waiting there for him anyways. Dick set down his duffle bag on the counter next to an envelope with a single word scrawled across the top in Tim’s handwriting, “Dick”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snatched up the envelope almost immediately, he hadn’t heard anything from Tim in a while and hoped that they could get their relationship back on track. He really hadn’t meant to offend him by firing him, he just thought he would do better on his own for a little while. All he needed was a push. The letter was handwritten, and less than a page long. It took only a few seconds for Dick to read, but it touched his heart more than anything had been able to in a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Dick,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re a real asshole for firing me. Don’t worry, I know you think you had my best interests at heart. And maybe you did. By firing me, you freed me to be able to go and look for Bruce. Which I will, and I won’t rest until I find him. He’s alive, Dick, I know it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway, I’ll probably be out of Gotham for a while, so that means I won’t be nearby to help with any difficulties, technical or otherwise, that may occur while I’m gone. Although, I’m certain the rest of the family would be more than willing to help if the need arises. Don’t forget to ask for help when you need it. There’s a reason Batman doesn’t work alone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah, and one more thing, don’t forget that you aren’t Bruce. The cowl doesn’t turn you into a cold brooding dick unless you let it. So don’t. Don’t forget who you are or where you came from.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your favorite brother,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Tim</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick smiled as he folded the letter back up and put it into the envelope it came out of, but as he did, he found two more pieces of paper tucked up inside ...two photos to be more precise. One was of him and his parents with a little kid less than half his size. Tim, posing with the flying Graysons on the night Dick’s parents were murdered. He had almost forgotten how happy he had been back then. The second was a picture of him and Bruce flying through the streets of Gotham on their grappling hooks. Dick smiling wider than ever, while Bruce scowled into the frosty night air. He glanced at the top of the cowl that peeked out of his duffle, and then at his nightwing suit that poked out of his closet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alright Tim</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dick thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t forget.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Inspired by my lovely family, who occasionally surprise me by knowing exactly what I need even when I don't.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Damian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Damian stops by Dick's apartment one afternoon and ends up getting sucked into one of his oldest brother's few days off.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick could barely hear the rapping on his kitchen window over the sound of the stove heating the bottom of the pan he was cooking on. It was the first day he had been given off of both superhero and regular work in a while, and he had decided to make himself breakfast. A silly thing, he knew, but it was slightly comforting as well. See, Dick never had any bad memories of breakfast. Only happy times with his parents and Bruce filled his mind when he let the smells around him encompass all his attention. It was during one of these deep breaths that he finally noticed a flash of yellow movement from the corner of his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to look, and quickly noticed Robin hanging off the edge of the kitchen window, precariously balanced over a busy road twenty five stories in the air. If it was any other eleven year old, Dick might’ve been worried. But this was Robin, his youngest brother, Damian, sitting outside his window, looking slightly more miserable than usual. Part of him wanted to sit there and relish the moment, but the other, more paternal part decided he should let the rascal in. So, he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian climbed through the window and slipped off the counter on his way into the apartment, but attempted to cover for his mistake with a well-placed flip and brush of his cape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant to do that.” He said indignantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick smiled knowingly, “Of course you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick stifled a laugh as the kid wrinkled his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pancakes. Really, Grayson?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with pancakes?” Dick asked defensively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. I just thought you more of a waffle person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian immediately walked to the opposite side of the kitchen counter and sat down across from where Dick was currently reattaching the security measures on his window. It wasn’t technically ever supposed to open, but Dick being a vigilante and all, had made some slight modifications in case of emergency. He turned around to see Damian properly poised over the kitchen counter with a few case files sitting in front of him. He could tell from the forlorn look on his little brother’s face he was secretly dreaming of pancakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want some?” Dick asked as he took the most recent pancake off the stove and replaced it with more batter. It was slightly burnt, but it would still taste good enough to eat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tt.” Damian replied, pulling his head ever so slightly away from the battery goodness in front of him. “Everyone knows waffles are better. Besides, I have much more important matters to discuss with you Grayson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, see there has been a series of robberies at my school and… stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick paused as he was pulling out two of his favorite flavors of maple syrup from the fridge, slowly turning around to face his brother who was staring at him in utter disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are those?” He asked, pointing to the bottles in his brother’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M...maple syrup?” Dick asked, trying his hardest not to smile at his youngest brother’s complete lack of understanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think me half witted? Of course they are maple syrup, but why do you have five different bottles in your refrigerator?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick let the smile that had been pulling at the corners of his lips finally escape, “They’re different flavors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Different flav…” Damian repeated under his breath, letting the idea fully sink in before continuing to regale Dick with the details of a fairly mundane case. Dick pretended to listen intently, just like he pretended to not notice his little brother’s eyes drift towards the pan of simmering goodness only inches away from his face. By the time Damian was done explaining the details of the case Dick was done with his pancakes and slid a small plate of them over to his younger brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grayson, I told you I don’t want… Is that grapefruit flavored syrup?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick smiled as he drowned his pancakes in the stuff, “Yep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian sighed, “You’re going to kill yourself before Todd has the chance to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the idea.” he laughed, “So, what flavor do you want? Strawberry, Blueberry, Boysenberry… I’m pretty sure I even have a coffee flavored one in the back of the fridge somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian gave Dick the signature Wayne glare. It was scary how similar they looked to each other sometimes. “I’ll have regular maple syrup, you heathen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm, you know what? I think that’s the one kind of syrup I don’t have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian rolled his eyes, “You have every flavor of maple syrup on planet earth except for regular maple. Tt. Figures.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick gasped in mock offense, “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means,” Damian replied as he stood up from the table and started walking towards the bathroom, “we are going to the store.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick mumbled through a mouth stuffed with pancakes, “But what about breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the boys got back from the store it was sunset and they only had three bags of groceries to show for their troubles. Thankfully their lack of success was, for once, not because of an evil super villain attacking at an inopportune time or a loved one falling into the clutches of some strange curse or, you know, dying… again, but rather, because they had gotten lost in a pet store playing with the animals that were up for adoption. It took hours for Dick to convince Damian that Bruce would kill him for getting Damian yet another pet, and while it was occasionally fun to incur Batman's wrath, Dick had had enough fighting for the week. So, they made a deal, Dick would cook Damian’s favorite meal from home and Damian would not steal a pet from the store. That’s exactly what they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although Damian would never admit it, Dick was actually a fairly good cook. He somehow knew exactly what spices could mix and blend together to make the dish taste exactly the way it was supposed to. So, when they sat down for dinner that night, he couldn’t say he was surprised that the dish tasted exactly the way he remembered it from Nanda Parbat. And though he tried to hide it, the memories of his time there washed over his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong Baby Bird?” Dick asked, his concern sickeningly sweet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing Grayson.” He snapped, then realized he may have hurt his brother’s feelings so he continued, “The meal is sufficient. Excuse me while I check on my suit, I believe I may have forgotten to secure a smoke bomb properly and would hate for our meal to be interrupted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he got to the bathroom a wave of emotions hit him so powerfully he collapsed on the ground. His heart raced a million miles an hour and his mind swam with frantic images of his life before Batman. His mother laughing as they sat at the table listening to his grandfather regale them with a story. The smell of her perfume mixing with the scent of the soup. The light of the candles dancing on the stone walls. Why did he feel this way? These were good memories. There was nothing to be afraid of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then came Grayson’s knock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Dami. You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to reply that he was fine. He wanted to snap back at his brother and regale him for ever insinuating that he was weak. But the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. He couldn’t move, he could speak, he couldn’t breathe. The next thing he knew Grayson was opening the door, then patting him on the back, then hugging his limp form close to his body. For once, he gave in. He leaned into his brother and let the tears fall freely. A sob escaped his mouth and startled him, but Grayson stayed firm, holding his brother in his arms just as tightly as he had before. There was no judgement here. No failure, no punishment, no pain, just Grayson and that was enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Damian finally got himself together again, Grayson looked down at him and asked, “Do you want to spend the night? I’ve been told I have a very comfortable sofa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian silently nodded and buried his face back into his brother’s arms, warding off another wave of tears that threatened to fall from his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then.” He whispered as he rubbed Damian’s back, “It’s okay Dami. You are going to be okay, I promise.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Barbara</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry it's been so long since I last posted... been dealing with some seasonal depression things, but anyway. Welcome to 2021!<br/>Here's a short angsty fic for you wherein Babs visits Dick the morning after Damian dies. </p><p>Trigger warnings: Suicide/depressive thoughts, allusions to past rape/non-con (you'll only recognize it if you're familiar with the comics), allusions to suicidal thoughts &amp; tendencies.</p><p>Please be safe and know that you can make it through the hard times as long as you don't forget the good ones! Best wishes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dick was done. Just done. Done with death. Done with pain. Done with life. Everything he’d been through, losing his parents, losing Jason, getting taken advantage of by… her..., losing Bruce, becoming Batman, finding out he was destined to be a Talon, losing the circus, and… Damian. It was too much. He just wanted it to end. He just wanted it all to end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lifeless form of Dick was lying face up on his nearly stripped bed, the only thing separating his bare chest from the mattress beneath was a midnight blue bottom sheet. His chest rose slowly up and down in tune with his breathing, the sole indication of his continued existence. He didn’t even look at her when he said, “What are you doing here Barbara?”</p><p>She could feel herself slink even closer to the wall. What was she doing here? She and Dick weren’t an item anymore, he had made that pretty clear the last time she visited him. And despite all the emotions surrounding the last few weeks, they had hardly spoken to each other. So why was she here? </p><p>“I thought you might need some company.” she decided, inching closer to the shadowy figure.</p><p>“You thought wrong.” He turned his back to her and curled his body to face the opposite direction.</p><p>She read his body language better than anyone else. He didn’t actually want to be alone, he was in pain and afraid of comfort. So, she cautiously sat on the end of his bed, reaching to take his hand in hers. But something unexpected happened. Instead of reaching back and grasping a hold of her hand, he yanked his own free of her grasp.</p><p>“I told you I didn’t want company!” He said, jerking far more than just his hand out of her reach. </p><p>Something was wrong, that is, more wrong than Barbara had been expecting, and that was saying a lot since she had been planning on dealing with a Dick who had not only just lost Haley’s Circus and his life’s savings, but also his beloved little brother. Whatever this was had settled itself even deeper than those trauma’s, and Barbara wasn’t sure she was entirely prepared for that. But looking at Dick, who had now sat up and was putting on a shirt from his dresser, getting ready to leave, she knew she couldn’t just let him be.</p><p>“Dick…” she emplored.</p><p>“No.” He was shaking now. “If I say I don’t want you to touch me, you can’t do it anyway.”</p><p>She pulled back a lot further than before and made herself as least frightening as possible, “Of course Dick. I’m sorry if I crossed a line. I didn’t realize you didn’t want to be touched.”</p><p>His blue eyes turned fiery in the early morning light, “What the hell do you think not wanting company means Barbara?”</p><p>“I-I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean…”</p><p>“Right,” he snapped, “you didn’t mean to cross a line. You didn’t mean to hurt me. You didn’t mean to break into my fucking apartment and have an emotional heart-to-heart. You didn’t mean to still have feelings for me despite my persistence that I DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR BOYFRIEND.”</p><p>Babs took a step towards Dick, “You know that’s not what this is about. We made that decision together.”</p><p>“And you’ve regretted it ever since.”</p><p>She turned the signature bat scowl on the boy, “You know that’s not true.”</p><p>“Really?” he asked, growing more and more angry by the second, “Then what was all that shit you said when you visited me at the circus? And what is this now?”</p><p>“You know I didn’t mean for it to come across that way…”</p><p> “Well guess what Barbara,” He exploded, “I didn’t mean for my parents to get fucking murdered when I was ten. I didn’t mean to get adopted by some idiot dressed in a fucking fur suit. I didn’t mean to lose everything and everyone I love over and over and over again for the sake of a cold uncaring city. But It doesn’t stop it from happening. Our best intentions don’t mean shit when faced with the current of life. So maybe I’m just done.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, edging slightly closer to Dick. He remained motionless, looking out the window next to his bed into the street below. “Dick, what do you mean by that?” She repeated, concern seeping into her voice.</p><p>“It means I want you to leave.” He replied coldly.</p><p>“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone right now Dick. If you really want me to go I will, but not before I know there’s someone who’s gonna take care of you.”</p><p>“I take care of myself.”</p><p>“But you don’t have to anymore.”</p><p>“Leave now or I will throw you out myself.”</p><p>“Tell me what’s wrong, or give me someone to call and I’ll go.”</p><p>She could tell he was thinking about his options. His head tilted slightly towards the escrima sticks positioned on the side of his bed before coming back to center. The fact that he had even considered attacking Barbara for a second made her feel all the more worried for his sake. What was bothering him so badly that he wouldn’t even talk about it? She watched as his shoulders slowly lost their tension, and regained it only to release it again. It took her a second to realize he was crying.</p><p>Dick Grayson. Crying. She could count the number of times she had seen that happen of its own volition on one hand. This was bad, but honestly more expected than the anger she had dealt with earlier. Her instinct was to reach across the bed and lovingly rub his shoulder, but she remembered his whole no touching thing right at the last second. So, she just kind of settled in the middle of the bed and folded her hands in her lap to prevent them from wandering. </p><p>After a few moments of silent shuddering, eventually the words, “...I’m sorry” drifted out of his muffled mouth. </p><p>“What’s there to be sorry about?” She asked, trying to give comfort with words, which was honestly not her forte.</p><p>After another series of shakes, he eventually pulled out a, “It was my fault. I couldn’t reach him in time.”</p><p>“Oh Dick,” she began, before she knew it she was on the same side of the bed as Dick, mirroring his body language, but more open, hands and arms outstretched but not quite touching. He leaned into her embrace, which she gave as a nonverbal signal that touching was alright again. “You know that’s not true. Damian would’ve attacked Heretic whether you had been there or not.”</p><p>“...no...no, you don’t understand.” More sobs erupted.</p><p>“Then help me. Please.”</p><p>He gulped down a fresh swarm of tears and then proceeded, “When I got to him h-he was already gone. I-I n-never got to t-tell him…” The tears cut him off.</p><p>“He knew, Dick. He knew everything you were going to say.”</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t know that Babs. There was so much I didn’t tell him. H-he never knew h-how m-much…” His words drifted off into sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara let him cry for a minute, then pulled him back so that she could properly look him in the eyes, “Dick, that kid loved you with his whole heart, and it wasn’t for no reason.” She took a deep breath, “Look, I am probably one of the only people who worked closely enough with the two of you during your Batman and Robin stint to know just how much you two cared about each other. Let me tell you, neither one of you was oblivious to the other’s feelings. Damian knew you cared about him, he knew you were proud of him. He knew…” she paused, too filled with memories to continue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the times she had witnessed Dick and Damian going out for fast food on patrols, legs dangling off the sign of a building while they shoved their faces with hamburgers. All the times Dick had put himself in danger to protect Damian (both in and out of patrol). All the selfies and silly jokes and teasing and laughing and crying and hugs they had shared. That one time Damian tried to do a move on the trapeze to impress Dick and ended up the middle of an inescapable knot of rope instead. The way Dick just laughed and good naturedly cut him down, without a hint of judgement in his tone. The way their faces used to light up whenever they saw each other out on patrol after resuming their original identities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He knew everything.” She finished and Dick nodded ever so slightly in agreement.</span>
</p><p>He pulled in even closer to Babs, melting into her arms. They stayed there like that for an indiscernible amount of time, comforting each other while the rest of the world woke up to the first new day without Robin, without Damian. That would take some getting used to, but for now they would stay here and let the world deal with it's own problems for once. For now Barbara would watch as Dick drifted into a dreamless, death-like sleep while she scared off the nightmares with her warm embrace. They would deal with the world tomorrow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Alfred</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alfred shows up at Dick's apartment unannounced and the two discover some not-so-nice things about the eldest robin's relationship with his father.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A small tap came from outside of Dick’s apartment door. Stately and polite and quiet. Thankfully Dick didn’t have his headphones on, because otherwise he would’ve missed the tender sound, and he knew he wouldn’t want to miss this visit. There was only one person in the entire world who knocked like that, Alfred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick jumped up from his position on the tattered old couch he had been lounging on. Hurried hands brushed wrinkles out of his shirt and sweatpants. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brushing out sweatpants?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He sighed at his own foolishness as he opened the front door to his old Butler.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred!” He exclaimed, “What are you doing this far outside of Gotham? Has hell frozen over already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred gave his perfectly polite face a deeper edge that no one else would’ve noticed as he responded, “I had a day off and decided you could use some company. I have hardly seen you at the manor since your return from the grave and subsequent relocation to Bludhaven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick smiled and stepped back a little, opening the door wide, “Well Alfred, I’m doing fine. You can come inside and see for yourself, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred didn’t even poke his head in. “Master Dick, as cozy as your apartment may be, I was rather hoping you’d join me for lunch in an establishment that is not infested with rats.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that an insult on my standards of cleanliness?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No sir,” the butler responded coldly, “it was an observation of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick placed his hand over his heart dramatically before bursting into laughter, “Well, not all of us were trained by the british military.” He glanced over at the half-empty bottle of rat poison that was still sitting on his counter and figured Alfred might actually have a point, as always. “But yeah, I’d love to have lunch with you.” He continued, glancing down at his stained and very wrinkled sweatpants, “Just let me put on some jeans first. K?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course Master Dick, I’ll wait for you out in the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind the butler who was steadily making his way out of the less-than-welcoming apartment building and into the street below. He was convinced the man did not understand the definition of the word vacation and was going to outlive all of his pseudo children purely out of spite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick was dressed and sliding into the front seat of the car in five minutes. Five minutes too late, if the slight scowl on his old friend’s face was any indication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I couldn’t find a clean pair.” He blushed as he strapped himself into the car, knowing full well that Alfred would not even think about stepping on the gas until his seatbelt was firmly secured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Further reason why you should come by the Manor.” The man glared ever so slightly at the younger man next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” Dick brushed off, mostly trying to avoid the topic altogether. He hadn’t been to the manor in a while, it was true, but it wasn’t because he didn’t miss his family. He loved them with all his heart, so much that it ached staying away for so long. But whenever he thought about going back to the ice cold granite countertops, marble staircases, and crystal chandeliers of his youth, something else panged in his chest. Something that had kept him as far away from Gotham as he could manage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick brushed off the eerie sense of foreboding that had begun to creep up within him and instead turned to his former guardian’s butler. The man who swore Bludhaven was the filthiest, most God-forsaken place on earth and refused to step foot in the place for decades, had shown up at Dick’s doorstep on one of his very few, very rare, days off and was now taking him out for lunch. There was nothing suspicious about that… nothing at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, no it really was suspicious and Dick was itching to figure out why, so, “What’s up?” he asked, when he felt like they were a safe enough distance away from his apartment that Alfred would not force Dick to get out of the car and walk back if they got into a disagreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler didn’t even glance in his direction, “A great deal of things Master Richard. Though I should hope that the nine years of proper schooling you underwent in your youth taught you as much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick had to restrain the eye roll that threatened to reveal itself from inside his head. Alfred’s lectures were worse than Bruce’s, mostly because they were long winded and had very few flaws in logic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry Alfie,” he spoke up, giving his voice a tiny inflection that would no doubt remind the butler of the bounding bundle of energy he had been as a young boy. Which should soften the butler up, making him more receptive to the question Dick was about to propose, “I meant to say how are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler simply stated, “I am doing quite well, thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He abruptly parked the car in front of a five star restaurant of which’s wait-list was easily five months long, and turned to Dick, “Now, shall we eat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The portions were small. Like, incredibly, microscopically, ridiculously tiny. Seriously, why did rich people decide to pay hundreds of dollars to starve themselves? Dick would never understand… Nevertheless, he graciously devoured every morsel the thumbnail of a plate could offer him, because it was Alfred who invited him out and Alfred never invited anyone anywhere by himself. If the butler had never insisted upon occasionally accompanying the family outside the manor Dick would’ve thought he was just a spectre of the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no, Alfred was merely a man, a man who cared about the family almost as much as Dick did, yet for some reason he was here, in Bludhaven, eating dinner. It was weird. Did Bruce forget to tell him someone died again? They had been chatting it up for the last twenty minutes, but nothing of value had really come out of the conversation thus far. Just as he was about to ask a very direct question in order to get down to the bottom of the visit, Alfred patted his lips, making them void of the few crumbs that had crested his cheek, folded his napkin and cleared his throat (old british butler speak for “I’m about to start talking, so shut up and listen”). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred’s throat came out somewhat hoarse as he began, “Master Dick, I suppose by now you’ve realized I did not invite you out to lunch to simply catch up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dick stifled a very ill-mannered laugh as he set down his fork, “I was beginning to wonder who died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred simply glared across the table at the young man, who quickly wiped the grin off his face and mumbled an apology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s quite alright, we all use humor to cope in our own ways, no matter how unfortunate the timing may be. Now, as I was saying,” Dick took a sip of cold water to hide his embarrassment as Alfred continued on, “I was recently cleaning the lower levels of the manor when I came across an unmarked tape from an old security camera in the cave. It may or may not have ended up playing through an old vhs player in my room. I must say, the scene it depicted was quite… how do I put this… concerning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Dick’s interest was piqued. They all knew Alfred snooped into their personal lives, (he was better at finding out secrets than Batman) but he never admitted it, and he certainly never felt anything he discovered was important enough to bring up in such a direct manner. What could’ve happened that he would find so disturbing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” the butler continued, looking down at his plate forlornly, “You see, the tape contained footage from one of the few times all digital cameras in the cave were shut down… shortly after your run-in with Mr. Luthor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Dick gulped. Whatever came next would not be good. Nothing that happened in that cave without Alfred’s knowledge was ever good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It appears Master Bruce took you back home after that unfortunate incident without informing me, or anyone else for that matter, about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost laughed at the weight that lifted from his chest, if that was all the man was concerned about, this would be easy. “Well, Alfred, let me…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler cut him off, “It also depicted what appeared to be an incredibly intense brawl between you two.” Dick froze. “Care to explain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. He saw it. He saw Dick get his ass handed to him by Bruce. Great. There was a moment of silence before Dick burst to life once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed to try to clear some of the tension in his throat, “What’s there to explain? It was a spar. Sure, it got a little rough, but it was nothing compared to some of the fights I’ve had with Slade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler glanced up at the young man he considered to be his oldest grandson and stared at him in earnest, “Yes, but sir, Mr. Wilson is not your father. In fact, I believe you and your friends have referred to him as a ‘supervillian’ on more than one occasion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick leveled a charming smirk at the man, “Alfred, c’mon, you know Bruce was just preparing me to infiltrate Spyral. It was one of my hardest missions, so of course he went hard on me. He needed to know I could take it, and I could. Really, it’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred wasn’t having any of it, “Master Dick, if it was only a spar, why did Master Bruce find it necessary to hurl insults at you in addition to his fists?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Alfred,” Dick set down his fork and stared the butler in the eyes, “If I can’t handle some insults thrown at me by a man in a mask, I never should’ve become a hero. Besides, it’s not like he was lying. I did let the crime syndicate capture me, I let them turn me into a bomb. I let them make the people I love watch me die. I was weak. Bruce had to make sure that weakness was all that it was. He had to make sure I wasn’t broken. And I wasn’t… I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richard,” using his first name was never a good sign, “you did not ‘let’ those evil men imprison and kill you. It was not weakness that put you at their mercy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was Alfred arguing with him? He got his ass handed to him by Batman, sure, it sucked, but he’d gotten beat up by worse criminals before. It really wasn’t a big deal. But now his trusted friend was making him relive one of the worst experiences of his life. Even if he was trying to frame it in a happier light, the walk down memory lane was unappreciated to say the least. He just wanted the man to drop the subject. Couldn’t they go back to talking about crumpets and proper cleaning methods like they had been just a few minutes ago? But they couldn’t, because Dick had let his curiosity get the better of him. Now he had to deal with the consequences. So, instead of begging Alfred to change the subject (which he whole-heartedly wanted to do) the young man settled for a small, grumbled, “You weren’t there.” and resumed listening to the lecture he was no doubt going to receive for letting this whole thing happen in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” the butler continued, paying no mind to his progeny’s comment, “even if it was a lack of strength that left you nearly dead, adding insult to injury is not the way to go about healing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick let out a light laugh, muttering,  “Well, Bruce never was the sugar-coating type.” and smiling to try and lessen the tension.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler prattled on, “I recommend you come back to the manor with me and talk to Master Bruce. He needs to understand this behavior is unacceptable, no matter what the situation was like…” on and on he went, only stopping to take a sip of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath “It wasn’t like it was the first time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He instantly knew that was a mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler looked as if he was about to spew his water all over the table. He quickly regained his composure, but only enough to swallow the clear liquid and stare into the younger man’s eyes, with an unrecognizable expression on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred…” Dick asked, his tone was lighter than before, the shock of his slip-up draining any malice faster than the blood draining from his face. What had he done? He reached a hand across the table to gently touch his old friend. “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The touch seemed to snap him out of his daze as he grabbed a hold of his grandson, “When?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick was confused by the simple question, but soon became flustered as it’s meaning settled in. He tried to pull away from the man, but he had his arm in a death grip. And, considering the public nature of their situation, he knew the only way to get him to let go would be to talk. So, reluctantly, he opened his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W—well, there was that time after Jason died… a-and a lot of the times he took me off patrol…” he was going to continue, but Alfred let go and turned away from him. Dick slumped back in his chair, feeling as if he had done something horribly wrong. Alfred’s face, which was now partially covered by a closed fist, didn’t provide much in the way of comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A—Alfred?” he asked, and the butler turned back to face him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I didn’t know.” he barely whispered above the roar of the other patrons in the restaurant. Then to himself he mumbled, “And to think, I was going to invite you over to work this out with the man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Note to self: the restaurant provided little in the way of sound distortion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Dick asked, tilting his head slightly in confusion, “We don’t need to work anything out. It was just a fight. I mean, you’ve seen us spar a hundred times. You know what it’s like. Punches get thrown. Words get said. It’s nothing. Really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred looked at Dick, concern, anger, and guilt seeping into the crevices of his wrinkled face, “Master Dick, I assure you it is most certainly not nothing. If Master Bruce has truly been treating you with such cruelty for so many years he is most certainly NOT the man I raised him to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfie…” Dick used the nickname to try and soften the older man’s resolve, “You know Bruce, he didn’t mean to hurt me. It was just training.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler practically stared into Dick’s soul with his light blue eyes, picking him apart piece by piece, “Would you hurt your students to the extent Master Bruce hurt you in a mere training session?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick was at a loss for words, but didn’t like what Alfred was insinuating, “I—I…” His voice trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Precisely.” Alfred was uncomfortably smug, “What happened to you was no mere training exercise. It was wrong, and Bruce knows better. I taught him better. How could he…” His voice died under the weight of his curled fist, only to reappear a moment later when the pressure was lifted, “... all those years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick knew what that meant and lurched forward once more, grabbing his old butler’s hand, “Alfie, it wasn’t your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred’s light gaze turned to steel. “My dear boy,” he coughed a little to dislodge the emotion that was almost certainly building up in his throat, “Guilt by ignorance is still guilt. I should have known and put a stop to this nonsense the moment it began.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You couldn’t have known Alfred.” Dick easily countered. If the butler wanted to play the blame game, Dick could go all night, “If it was anyone’s fault, it would be mine. I should’ve told you sooner. Besides, I’m a superhero in my own right. I should be more than capable of taking care of myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” his reply was stern and unwavering, no room for counterarguments. “Master Bruce never should have laid a hand on you. That was his mistake. Now,” the old man glanced down at the half-eaten dime sized pile of mush on Dick’s plate, “If you're quite done with your meal, we best be off. I’m afraid I have a meeting I did not prepare for ahead of time, and you appear to need a bit more sustenance before your nightly routine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred…” Dick grumbled, pulling his chair out from underneath the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will have none of it.” He snapped, placing a hundred dollar bill on his empty plate and walking away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two men spent the duration of the ride back to the apartment in complete silence. Dick had decided to cross his arms and stare out the window in a state of perpetual discontentment rather than make any more attempts to protect Bruce against Alfred’s simmering wrath. He still didn’t get it. Bruce had been doing this type of thing for years. No one noticed. No one commented. It didn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, sure, he stepped in with the other Robins. He tried to stop by the manor to check on them as much as he could. He invited them to stay with him when he saw bruises where they shouldn’t be. He argued with and lectured Bruce on letting the Robins be more independent, less time with him, more time with other heroes and on their own. But he was the first Robin, that was his job, to look after the others who took on his mantle, to ease the transition if he could. He was the protector. He wasn’t the one in need of protecting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Alfred’s anger had been a brick wall, immovable and resolute. There was no use trying to fight it with words. He would simply have to prove the stubborn man wrong through his actions. Which wouldn’t be hard because he was fine. Perfectly content to continue his association with Batman and Bruce, despite their rocky past, because it was okay. He could handle it. He was Nightwing, afterall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he knew it, the car had pulled up to his apartment building. Alfred parked in the garage and got out, opening Dick’s door as an invitation to step out. He stubbornly refused. The butler sighed and leaned forward, head just outside the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a problem Master Richard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only called Dick Richard when he was in trouble, but he didn’t pay it any mind as he turned to glare into Butler's eyes (a truly daunting task, even for a protege of the Bat). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to call Bruce?” He challenged, internally hitting himself over the head for being so rude to the kind man, but still, he couldn’t let him run off to go lecture his mentor without putting up a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is no matter for you to concern yourself with, young man. Now, if you would please step out of the automobile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred…” Dick grumbled, slouching further into the front seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richard John Grayson,” shit, his full name… he was in serious trouble now, “are you quite aware you had better manners when you first came to live with us at the oh-so sophisticated age of nine? Now, will you get out of the car willingly, or must I entice you with sweets and a nap as one would a toddler?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twenty-three year old straightened up and fixed his slightly crumpled shirt before accepting the butler’s hand and stepping out of the car. He looked apologetically at the man before mumbling, “I’m sorry” under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is quite alright Master Dick.” the butler soothed, “Now, I would typically walk you back to your door, but as I mentioned earlier, I seem to have an urgent meeting to prepare for. So, I’m afraid I must bid you farewell here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick smiled softly at his old friend. Alfred was one of the few people in the world Dick knew he could always count on. The man had been so much more than a butler to him, so much more than a friend even, he was almost a father, but not quite. Maybe grandfather was the term he was looking for. Dick never knew his biological grandfather (aside from the one that wanted to kidnap him and turn him into a mindless assassin), so he supposed Alfred must fit the word. He thought about using it, but at the last second decided not to. Not yet anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye Alfred.” He said instead, trusting that the right moment would arise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Farewell Master Dick,” came the curt reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he was off. As soon as the car pulled out of eyesight, Dick clicked open his phone and activated the bug he had hidden on the side of the seat he had been sitting in just moments before. He knew it would eventually be found, especially considering his strange behavior while Alfred tried to get him out of the car. But he hoped by that point he’d already have the information he needed. That is, as long as Alfred didn’t find the device before making the call. There were a few minutes of agonizing silence while Alfred shuffled around the car (the tracker showed he had parked in a parking lot just a block from Dick’s apartment). Dick held his breath until he heard the dial tone of a phone ringing. Three rings and then an answer. This was it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” The baritone voice of the Dark Knight of Gotham greeted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce Thomas Wayne. We need to talk.” Came the sharp reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it Alfred? I’m a bit busy at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, it appears you found plenty of time in your schedule to hold Master Richard against his will and beat him senseless in the cave a few months ago, so I apologize for assuming you could spare a few moments to speak with the man who raised you. I suppose I should simply hang up and file a report with Child Protective Services instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred.” The man pleaded, “I-I can explain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, I’m certain you will, since as of this moment I have half a mind to ask our dear friend Commissioner Gordon to prepare a cell for you in Arkham.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler continued, “You have half an hour to come up with a good reason why I should not call in the justice league to help apprehend you for child abuse, and if I hear one word come out in defense of your actions I will have Superman himself seal the door on your cell. Do you understand me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” he conceded with a pause, then hesitantly mumbled “I’m sorry.” into the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler scoffed. “No. You’re not sorry. Not yet. But you will be. Now, have your secretary and Ms. Gordon cancel your plans for this evening. We will be having a long conversation when I return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hung up the phone. The car was silent except for the faint breaths emanating from the angry English butler. He turned on the engine and skittered off towards Gotham. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick removed the earpiece from his ear and slumped against the wall. One all-consuming thought circling his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell just happened?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello friends!<br/>It has been nearly a month since I last posted on this project. My apologies, this chapter was incredibly difficult for me to write and I got quite caught up in a few other fics that demanded my attention (not to mention the nosedive my normal shitshow of mental health recently took). But now I'm back! And since my last update, some things have changed... </p><p>Firstly, I now have a beta, SuperSilverSpy, who provided so much helpful insight for this very emotionally charged chapter. It probably would've taken me twice as long to get this finished if she hadn't been here to help, so you guys should definitely thank her (and go check out her works, she's a great writer too!). </p><p>Secondly, this work is now part of a series! Some of you may already know about the four-part (and thankfully completed) work titled Jason Todd: Intro to Sibling Bonding 101, but for those of you who don't know, it is a Jason-centric continuation of the batboy's bonding theme I have going on in this work. So feel free to check it out once you finish with this one. I have two to three more works planned for this series, each following a different robin as they learn more about their siblings and the power of family bonding through mutual trauma *trademark pending*. So if you like that idea, you might want to bookmark the series to stay up to date because I am not a regular at posting.</p><p>Finally, the last chapter of this fic is complete! (Yay!!! and also thanks to my incredible beta) so I'll try to muster up the courage to post it tomorrow. Thanks for sticking with me through this ride of a series, and I hope to see more of you guys in the future!<br/>See you tomorrow (mental health willing)!<br/>-A.J.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Dick</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After an unfortunate accident strips Dick of all his memories, turning him into Ric Grayson, the circus acrobat turned taxi driver stops by his former apartment to say one last goodbye to the life he doesn't remember having.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so before you come at me with pitchforks, know that I hate the Ric Grayson story arc with a passion (not because it's necessarily bad, I just love Dick too much to watch someone else live his life, you know?). So, I have categorically refused to read any of the comics containing the character. So, if there are any inconsistencies with his characterization (which hopefully both me and my beta, SuperSilverSpy, will have already caught) blame them on that.</p><p>Also, shoutout to my (aforementioned) beta for helping me with some inconsistencies in Dick's culture and helping me figure out what scenes to cut and which to elongate to make this fic work.</p><p>Finally, to my fellow Ric haters, I urge you to bear with me, it's a very short chapter and has a special guest star at the end. So yeah, anyways... please enjoy the ending to my first fic series!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dust coated everything. The faintest breath blew clouds of the stuff into the air, making Ric cough uncontrollably. When he got his breath back he took a good look around. Apparently, this was where he used to live. A quaint little one bedroom apartment in downtown Bludhaven, complete with a ragged leather couch that looked more orange than brown, a tan dining table with a broken leg, a misused coffee maker and an elaborate Romani tapestry that hung from the far wall. ...Now that was something he could remember. His mother had a tapestry just like it hung up on the walls of their trailer when he was little, he remembered staring up at it when he would lay in her bed as she sang him a song before going to sleep...</span>
  <em>
    <span>the daring young man on the flying trapeze…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strangely comforting to know that whether or not he remembered living in this dusty old place, it still held pieces of himself within its walls. He took a step closer to one of the many pictures that made a collage of sorts above the couch. It showed an image of him with three other boys, one was slightly taller than him and had a white streak in his hair, another was of Asian descent and looked to be somewhere around sixteen, and the last looked like a miniature version of Bruce Wayne, the man who had paid for his medical bills and had supposedly been his guardian in this other life he didn’t remember. Ric had the smallest kid on his shoulders, while the young man with the white hair had the other boy on his. They appeared to be playing a modified game of chicken in the pool. They seemed so normal, so happy. Ric backed away from the frame, shaking his head slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t stand to think about those kids playing with him in the pool. What did they think of him now? Did they miss him, this man he used to be? Did they know he wasn’t himself anymore? Did they mourn him? How could he have caused so much pain to these children if he didn’t even remember their names? Before he knew it, his fist flew into the picture frame, shattering the glass. A few shards ended up in his hand. He cursed as the sting radiated from the tender space of muscle between his knuckles. He pulled the largest shard out, which left a hole in his hand that immediately erupted in blood. Rookie mistake. Before he even thought about it, he found himself reaching into a random drawer and grabbing a towel, wrapping it around his hand. He stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How had he known that was where the towels were? He supposed it could simply be muscle memory… but what if it wasn’t? What if this Dick Grayson person was still in there somewhere, clawing his way out of Ric’s brain, trying to get back to his old life… to their old life. The life that was filled with sunshine and happiness, lazy days at pools with alien supermodels and children who climbed around him like a jungle gym (that is, according to the faded pictures on the wall). Who was Ric to stand in the way of that? Why couldn’t he remember?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon his head began to throb, and he had a sudden appreciation for the pain Zeus must’ve felt when Athena was born. He stumbled his way over to the strangely orange leather couch and closed his eyes for a few moments, just to get his bearings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Ric opened his eyes again the sun was setting on the tattered carpet of the worn down old place. It blared into his eyes, forcing him to sit up before he felt ready to. When he made the unwelcome movement, he felt a blanket fall off his prone body. That surely wasn’t there before his nap… Instinct took over, and the next thing he knew, he was flying up over the side of the couch, searching the empty rooms for threats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt kinda like an idiot, slinking through the apartment he had apparently called home for over three years now, but nevertheless, continued his stealthy movement. He was walking through the bedroom, when he saw it. The blue striped sleeve sticking out of the corner of the closet. Distant recollection registered in his mind, and he stepped closer to the object, gently picking it up in his calloused hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Faded memories came bursting forth, vying for his attention all at once. It was like watching a movie through fog. The shadow of a woman with long curly hair and hands of glowing green laying next to him on what felt like an endless sea of sand beneath their fingertips. The wind whipping his hair in strangely familiar motions as his stomach lurched forward at the speed of light. The distant laughter of a young boy, followed by an echo of the word, “Grayson” on immature lips. The faint smell of coffee stains and motor oil, mixed with the familiar clack of a keyboard. Gunpowder and leather drifting into the hazy shape of a crowbar dripping with blood. Polluted smoke, a wheelchair, and a gunshot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More laughter, though this time, it was cruel and maniacal, as if the person producing the sound had lost all sense of the true meaning of fun. The faint scent of flowers mixed with blood on perfectly red lips. A mixture of dirt and sewer water pouring into his lungs. The glint of a sword pulled by a man with one eye. Thousands upon thousands of memories of tears and sweat and blood slowly became clearer and clearer until they were all Ric could see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped the sleeve as if it were poison and quickly stepped away from the cluttered closet, trying to wipe the memories from his mind. Ric didn’t know what he had expected to find from his visit, but it certainly wasn’t that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, all the feelings of guilt and shame he had experienced earlier felt fake, like he had somehow been lied to and manipulated into feeling guilty for living. But now he realized, his old life wasn’t filled with sunshine and rainbows and happiness. It was filled with death and sorrow and fear. So maybe it was okay he didn’t remember. Maybe it was okay he didn’t want to remember. Maybe he didn’t have to live in pain anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got up off his knees and walked back over to the couch where the blanket still lay discarded on the floor. He sighed as he picked it up and folded it over the backrest. Whoever may or may not have broken in wasn’t going to find what they were looking for. Dick Grayson was dead. It was past time everyone accepted that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Ric steeled himself as he picked up his leather jacket from it’s landing spot on the rickety kitchen table and pulled the keys to the apartment out of his pocket. He unhooked them from their place on the ring and placed them in a plain manilla envelope. Mindlessly taking a sharpie out of its place on the kitchen counter and writing two small words on the back of the folder. Then he turned and left the empty apartment. Closing the front door for the last time with a bang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the footsteps ceased to echo down the hallway outside, Jason removed himself from his hiding spot in the bathtub. His former brother’s apartment was the same as he remembered it from the first time he visited. Dirty clothes strewn across the floor. An escrima stick or two poking it’s head out from under the bed. He breathed in the smell of cheap cologne and Dick’s body odor. It felt like home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he knew it, his eyes welled up with tears. He stood in the empty apartment, trying to blink them back, but it was a losing battle. Besides, no one was here to see it. So he closed his eyes and let the drops of lazarus-tinted salt water fall down his leather jacket and onto the floor. This was the place he had always felt welcome, no matter what he had done. It must’ve been something about the Romani charm. It was so different from the manor in every way imaginable. And that was precisely why he felt safe here. It was purely, 100% Dick. And Dick was safe. Dick was home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was gone now, just like the man who once called these rat infested walls a suitable place of residence. Gone in an instant. Replaced by the haunted memory of what once was. Jason could relate to that. He, too, was not the same bright eyes kid he used to be. He had been so angry when he returned to see his family, he thought they didn’t understand the pain he was in. And for the most part, he was right. They didn’t understand his pain because they had their own. During his time trying to destroy his family he never even considered what it must’ve felt like for Dick to see the little kid he used to babysit turn into a haunted version of his former self. How deeply those wounds must’ve hurt. He couldn’t understand. Not until now, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked the rest of the tears away, refusing to indulge any more bouts of depression. He was on a mission to get intel that had been stored on his former brother’s nightwing suit. It had been pure coincidence that he had stumbled onto the sleeping form of the place’s former occupant who just so happened shivering in the cold afternoon breeze. So, he threw a blanket on him and went to work. Unfortunately, the man had woken up again before Jason had finished retrieving the data, but now that it was done, he needed to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood up, grabbed his helmet and made towards the window, but before he could slip outside, a picture on the wall caught his eye. It was a tiny thing, really, only about three inches long and four tall, but it contained one of Jason’s favorite memories with his older brother. It showed them laughing together and stuffing their faces with pizza, taken from the first time Jason stayed with Dick after he moved out of the manor. They had just busted a robbery and were about to go teach each other a few new tricks in a nearby park. Jason had been so anxious to impress the former Robin, his new brother, that it took him the whole night to learn the basics. It was so long ago, literally happened in another lifetime, but the memory still brought the shadow of a smile to the outlaw’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason paused to relive the moment, before deciding to take the picture off the wall and stuff it into the front pocket of his jacket. He knew the real Dick would’ve given him crap about being sentimental, but hey, it’s not like Dick 2.0 would be using it anytime soon. Might as well go to the only other person who could claim ownership, right? He rolled his eyes at his own internal need to justify what could hardly even be considered a theft. All because he was reminded of his older brother. God, he was really starting to go soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, he slunk back over to the window and opened the latch, stepping out onto the firescape and into the ever more freezing weather of Bludhaven in winter. He wasn’t sure if it was sentiment or paranoia that made him turn around and look in the window one last time, but he did. As he was glancing around the room, he caught sight of the manilla folder that contained the keys to the residence. On the outside of the package were two words scrawled in familiar handwriting, “Dick’s Apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason turned and jumped off the fire escape, leaving the place untouched, save for a small souvenir and the reason for his visit. Maybe one day he’d come back to the place he once called home, but for now it would sit empty, waiting for it’s true owner to return. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. Only time could tell, but Jason never was one for patience. So, he landed in the alley and disappeared into the crowded streets, going to do the only thing he could think of… move forward.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Also, if you guys want to interact with me more, feel free to follow me on my tumblr account @the-uninformed-zennial<br/>I'm always up for hearing new ideas and meeting new people. So... yeah. For those of you who will be coming back, see you next update. And for those who stuck with me through this ride, thank you for your time. I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did!<br/>-A.J.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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